


Beyond the Targets

by EnderHeathen (APHMamaBear)



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, Assassin AU, Assassination, F/M, Mafia AU, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APHMamaBear/pseuds/EnderHeathen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>living in solitude, taking hit jobs for money, a young man will soon meet a target he doesn’t want to kill. But after falling for the target and refusing to do his job leads them into the cost of both their lives, making them set out in search for safety and adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call To Be Released

He couldn’t remember the time he wasn’t off the streets, holding knives within his grips as he stood waiting for his target to be in place.

It was a horrid job, but he took it every time, he needed the money. And with this really being the only skill set he had, there was no other choice.  
The next thing the target knew was a tall shadow, a hand upon his mouth, and a knife slipping across his throat.  
There was no evidence every time.

—

He grew up in the streets; abandoned in a foster home only to escape his cruel new “loving” parents.  
Once on the streets of course, there were the gangs to deal with, joining one, doing the jobs he never wished to do, as harming the innocent was of course against his standards. He did it anyway, for the food and home.  
It made him hate guns.  
but he hated technology more when his boss stabbed him in the back the minute he became “useless”.  
It was the reason he uncovered his face to no one now.  
and of course, it was like him, to vow on his heart, strength, and mind to return the favour in any means.  
he was solo.

—

He went on a solo business, killing his only skill without being heard nor seen. It took him to many places, killing many people, given tickets to many parties so he may only show the ticket, then hide himself until needed.  
Never caught.  
Never heard.  
Only the ticket to be seen. Sometimes not even that.  
All he really could admit was that he wasn’t a people person anyway.  
His little “business” thrived, from the customers being mob bosses to ordinary people. he took any amount, is life style wasn’t really expensive anyway.  
Once he was done, he would return to his secluded home, putting his phone in a wooden box, the only piece of technology he really had. He sat on the bed before laying down and looking up to the wooden planked roof, covered in vines. The transport home was always long, the winters were worst.  
He always sustained both, he hated planes and cars, but he didn’t mind the cold winters.  
This particular night was the same, laying on the bed, looking up at the planks to think to himself, wonder if he really felt guilt or not for the murder happening by his hand. He then put the money he had into the bag stashed under his bed, not rely caring but he used it for clothes and the cold winters when he couldn’t grow food, nor catch fish.  
He laid back again, before hearing the phone buzz in the wooden box and he was forced back up to grab it.  
“Hello,” he answered, holding the phone lightly against the ear feeling light vibrations as the other spoke.  
“I have a job for you.” the voice said, “where can we meet.”  
They were always so straight foreword like this, he rather wouldn’t make the conversation if he wasn’t going to see them out of job. Seeing as if he saw them again, they wouldn’t see him.  
He gave them a address, saying he’ll be in the alley or on the roof and to tell them to leave the package and a place to meet after the job was done with it.  
And in the midst of the night, there was a car, tossing out a package into a trash bin for him to snatch soon after.  
And of course he did.

—

It’s not like he didn’t like people.  
He really was just trying to protect himself.  
He never conversed with anyone besides a hello and an address, then taking payment.

—

On his return, he opened the package, laying it out onto the bed. Multiple pictures of a red haired woman. She was beautiful, he thought to himself, but soon ignored the brief bit of unprofessional thoughts.  
He shook his head, flipping a couple of the photos to face down to check the backs of it.  
Nothing, no written word. He flipped them back, looking over her face before moving to the files.  
He spent the next three hours reading and memorizing the information. She was the daughter and heir to a major corporation, well known in the city of London. Her father was said to be ill, but it wasn’t seen to be life threatening.  
Her information held nothing wrong of her as a person, she hosted charities, held parties, she really was the people’s person.   
“Why?” he whispered looking through the papers, looking for a bit of an explanation, which really there was none. But, the price for her head at the bottom was high. And seeing how the cold was already coming, he knew the winters were going to be bad.  
He looked at her face once more, and looked at the ticket to a party she was throwing for some charity in the next day.  
He had his entrance, as much as there was no motive, it was a job.  
It was just a job.  
He just had to do it quick.


	2. Red, Black, Gown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rythian makes his way onto the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible with summaries

He had called the unknown customer a half hour later, after he decided.

“I’ll do it.” He said, before clicking the phone shut. Picking up the plane tickets to London.

He would need to remove the mask, and cover his face a different way. Covering parts of his face in concealer, feeling silly by putting on the make-up but feeling the necessity of it. It was only so he could ride the plane, a devil of a thing. No, he wasn’t scared of it. That he could never admit, feeling as though it was false to him, he really just didn’t like it.

—

it took two hours to get aboard the plane to London and he spent his time looking at the pictures of the red haired woman.

According to her files, her name was Zoeya, such an oddly spelt name. He looked at her face, remembering her file, remembering the price.

he still couldn’t help but ask why, a question he shouldn’t be asking. Not with the pay, not with his job. 

But looking down at her smile, he was getting conflicted on his flight. She didn’t seem a bad person, she seemed good for all.

—

He could almost kiss the ground but he didn’t grabbing his bags, slipping his mask on and going off and out of the airport isolating himself from crowds, meeting a taxi man who actually flagged him down.

“Your bag?” The man said, “The rest is in the back.”

“No, it’s fine,” He muttered a bit, “Drive me to 345 darling.”

The drive was silent, He made sure of the concentration he needed was to be kept. If the driver spoke, he lifted his hand, keeping his eyes closed as if to say he was busy.

which to him he was, as soon as he hit the soil, his job had started and he needed all the apathy and concentration he could muster to get the job done… no matter what it was.

by the end of the car ride, he didn’t have to pay, he gathered what he needed and headed back and away, walking 5 blocks away from where he was dropped off, entering a hotel with his mask off to check in, slipping it back on when he was in the elevator. 

he spread out his tools on the bed, taking a shower, putting on concealer again before getting dress, hiding his weapons in his clothes.

His “tools” as he had grown to call them over the years scurrying around for gangs and jobs consisted of various knives he would usually ship them over the day before. They all were of different lengths, sharp, smooth or jagged. but like everyone, he always had a favourite type.

they were all smaller, larger than a average kitchen knife and far more sharp but small enough to be concealed in any form of attire.

He spent the red of the day making plans of action, thinking of any possibility that could go down and how to overcome it.

He would occasionally scan her photos, feeling slight guilt. But there was the job.

The night had come and he took one of the women’s pictures, putting it in the inside pocket to his jacket and with a last check of the ticket he was on his way down the elevator and taking a cab to the party.

-

is your job, really that important over this innocent woman’s life?

-

his mind yells at him for the rest of the night. Fighting against the thoughts of guilt and anger.

is the money that important?

or a life of another who has caused no major sin.

 

Through the dancing and partying he stayed hidden, watching the people around, trying to find the red haired women.

and when he found her, she stood on stage, in front of a mic, and was she ever beautiful.

the red hair that flowed from her head had been pulled up into a bun, tendrils of hair hung free from it. the dress that draped her curved body was back, fabric draping to the floor and cut to fit around her chest in that of a heart shape.

her photos seemed to not do her justice then, and as she spoke about the charity of the night, he listened content on every word spoken from her voice.

He removed himself from the party, flipping open the cellphone and dialling the client’s number. before a hello he stated, “The job is off, You’re money will be sent back to you in the morning.”

a husky voice made it’s way onto the phone, “Why are you dropping?”

“I do hits, not murders.”

“Fine…” The voice breathed in deep, rattling out a couch before continuing, “I’ll send another then.”

the phone clicked shut, and he stayed hidden for the rest of the night, now with a new job to do.


	3. Captured in the Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moral mission starts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so sorry Guys my old computer had most of the third chapter on it so I had to rewrite it all!!! not to mention school ;;

"Fine… I’ll send another then."

.  
.  
.

He needed to be quick, he knew that.

But without the knowledge of who he now was up against this new job would be difficult. Of course he ran some checks on the caller himself but with technology not within his disposal, he was driven up with close to nothing.

His first course of action was to make a plan. Would this "operation" work better at a distance or right up as her personal bodyguard.  
From what he had figured about his challenger his choice would have to remain the latter. He would have to expose himself to her and convince her to let he guard her at all costs.

He took the path down the second corridor, the colours of the walls dusted in a daisy yellow and white, he admired it for a moment before jolting forward moving quickly around to map out the venue mentally. He could have sent someone else, and with body guards already surrounding the populous inside, but... they weren't as good as most people believe them to be.

He took a breath, slipping into the men's restroom pulling out a cigarette holder from his breast pocket.

"Time... How much time?" He contemplated the possibilities. If they had sent another like he believed they were already getting their message now.

He pulled out a dark purpled fabric from his pocket slipping it over his hair and down to create a mask around his mouth and nose. He took a deep breath in, looking down at the cigarette cause that held small knives and a small bottle with white dust in it. He slipped one of the knives out, keeping and playing with it between his fingers before deciding to move, pulling the mask down as he exited the rest room, closing and slipping the cigarette holder back into his breast pocket.

A breath was all he needed before he begun, he was too used to planning out his tactic slowly so it would be completely efficient. This was much different, he knew absolutely nothing of his new target or targets. He truly had no idea of how many they would be sending. he didn't know what they looked like, their backgrounds, their skills.  
He would have to rely on his own.

He just needed to get her out of harms way.

\---

"Pardon me." muttering as he moved passed various people he made his way to the other side of the crowd to gain a better perspective of his surroundings. Sighing, Rythian had scoped the area eyes catching towards the red haired woman once more. Paled, ivory skin seemed to glow from the lights of the chandeliers that hung themselves from the daisy yellow ceilings that seemed to sputter out the whites and golds down the side of the walls.

One more spread around and he noticed a familiar face among the crowd of people. A man with hair of golden shaggy blond and a devilish smirk.  
He did not freeze but only found his movements far quicker. Rythian walked quickly in the direction of the red haired woman, staying far enough away that security would not stop him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small knife he had kept in the cigarette holder. There would have to be a power box within this room, the grounds of it were to big not to. Searching he had spied it as he glanced in the direction of the other man.

He made his way there quickly, using the cover of the crowd and if own mask which he tugged up onto his face. He opened the box, sparking the attention of some security, but before they could get to him, he cut the power off.

and he was gone, and soon, so was the red hair woman.


	4. Thistles and Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoeya is brought back to the secluded Hotel Room. Rythian finds out more about her that his offer did not tell him about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S LATE AND TOTALLY SORRY

"Let go of me this instant! Who are you? what are you doing? Why have you--?!"  
"Quiet." Rythian shushed her, covering her mouth with his hand gently, having it hit out of the way in almost an instant.  
"If you try anything... I'll beat you up."  
He rolled his eyes at her, seeing her huff soon after, "I'm doing this for your protection."  
"My protection?!" Zoeya's voice was all but amused, "you kidnapped me, brought me to a dark hotel room... it's a nice hotel room I will give you that but... at least untie me."  
"not until I explain what's happening."  
"then Tell Me." Her voice was a mixture of whine and demand.  
That's what he was trying to figure out, how to tell this red haired woman who caught his eye not to long ago that she was being hunted by another and was meant to be hunted down by him. There was no simple way to put it, no simple sense to bring out that explanation she needed.  
He hummed a bit in thought, "I was hired to kill you bu-."  
"Oh My God that didn't help at all. Now I'm going to die and and-"  
"BUT," His voice became slightly louder, "But... I disagreed. There was no true reason too, there were no crimes or anything so I said no. But the man who hired me stated there would be another, and usually there is."  
"how often is usually to you sir?" Her voice wasn't calm, far from it.  
"Always."  
"you're not very good at keeping a situation calm... at least take off that daft mask!"  
He shook his head, the sweat from his lip had wiped his concealer from his face, the scars underneath led him to believe she was to delicate to see. Was this the truth? He wouldn't truly know until she saw, but, for now at the least, he rather keep it to himself, casting it behind the mask as if they didn't exist. Breathing out slowly he could feel the fabric dampen lightly, warming under his breath.  
"Isn't It hard to breath with it on though?" Zoeya asked simply, almost as if she had relaxed.  
"Give me one moment, I'm going to untie you." Rythian said lightly, "  
We must leave soon, it would be best to get you out of country for now, a mini exile kind of."  
Her jaw dropped, she didn't like the sound of that.  
"I'll be your personal guard." He said moving behind her to start untying the ropes, "... What better than to have an assassin..." He muttered the last bit.  
"I need a drink..."  
"Water?"  
"..." She gave him this look of utter confusion, "Alcohol... whiskey, rum, burbun... At this point I don't care much seeing as I'm being HUNTED."  
He rubbed his hand to the back of his neck, "You can check the mini fridge." He said moving towards the door, "If you want, I can show you the file they had sent me..."  
"oh yes, Let's show the woman being hunted why she is..."  
"But that's the point, there is no reason." Rythian replied, looking into the key hole before checking the locks, "There's a higher motive I don't know about nor did they want to tell me."  
Pausing in thought Zoeya glanced along his all thin frame, "do you know who I am?"  
"in what manner of speaking do you mean? Cause I don't know you personally, but I know about you, rich from your father who is ill, Runs charity galas and so on while helping your father run the company though it's in the hands of another as well. Father's company is in the multi-millions... You're family owns several hotels and businesses in England, some in North America."  
"Sir... My father died last night." Zoeya spoke up, "My father is not the owner of the company anymore, I am."  
Rythian stared blankly at her from the door, she was still sitting on the chair, legs cross with her hands placed upon her knee.  
She didn't seem as delicate as he imagined her before.  
"I could really use that drink."


End file.
